Blind Luck (Part 4)

            Was my Johnny-on-the-spot ploy working?  It really sounded dumb to me, hearing this espionage come out of my mouth.  But it worked.  Dumb ass.  He pulled me down to the floor by the   

arm and hair and dragged me across the floor.  My big mouth spoke.

This is ridiculous.  Why are we army crawling across the floor?  No one can see us. 

Blind spot. We reached the register and I opened it, gave him the cash, “and the change”, while he was breathing down my neck.  Please look away, I was thinking, so I can see if this button actually works.  He grabbed my other arm and hair again, and turned to slither him and me along the floor again.  I quickly pressed the button.  Once in the blind spot again, he asked where my purse was.  If he got me into my office in the back of the store, I might never be seen alive again.

                        It’s in my car.

            “The red truck?”  Right then the panic hit.  How did he know what I drove?  How long had he been casing me and how much did he know about me?

            “Where is it parked?”

                        Down the street by Starbucks.

            It wasn’t, but my ploy worked and we remained in the blind spot.  He then dragged me into the Tool Shed (a private closet actually where sex toys were displayed), an even blinder spot than the one I was standing in, and told me to get on the ground.  Panic.  Heart now inside mouth.  Swallow it down and speak loudly and clearly.  Use your big mouth.

                        You got what you want.  Just get out of here.

            I looked around.  It felt like hours had passed.  Where were the cops?  What a time to find out the alarm button doesn’t work!

            “What are you looking for?  The cops?” 

            He grabbed my hands to tie together with the thong he just ripped apart and saw my wedding band and a gold coin ring from Greece, bought the summer after Goon #1.

            “Give me those.”

                        No.  That is my wedding band and you can’t have it. 

            He grabbed at my hands.  “Give me those.”

                        No, I am not giving you this ring.

            He took my fingers and started pulling at the ring.   Grudgingly, I gave up.

                       

                        Here, just take it and get the hell out.

            He proceeded to pull me down to the floor and tie my feet together.  This was it. I was sure.  Why wouldn’t he leave after looting my store?  Unless there was more than looting on his mind.  This was unthinkable.  My mind refused this train of thought and thought perhaps it could call out silently and someone would hear me.  Perhaps he heard it, because he stood up, grabbed a few boxes off the shelf (taking inventory shortly afterwards, I found the tube of lube under the counter that should have been in the stolen box in the Tool Shed­—Ha!), warned me not to move, and left.  I immediately began to untie myself, jumped up and ran to the phone, which was ringing now for the third time.  Husband’s second call.  (The first ring was the unanswered call from the security company.) My tied hands picked up the receiver and awkwardly lifted it to my ears.

                       

                        I’ve been robbed, I warbled hysterically through my trembling.  “What!” was his shocked reply.  Then I said, the cops are here.  Gotta go.  And I hung up on him.

           

            I thank my lucky stars that each of my experiences brought some justice along with it—a gift for me.  A gift of innate knowing was thrown in for good measure. 

           

            Nick asked the third incident goons, the morning after their visit to my store, why they didn’t rob me.  “She gave us a look.”  

           

            One of their mothers came to pick them up after paying a good sum for their release, grabbed them by the napes of their necks, castigating them as she dragged them out of the station.  My children reacted to Nick’s comment with, “We know that look.” 

           

            Luck equals lessons learned, looks honed.  It just has to.